Krista Canterbury Adams
In the windows of the grand
House, light after light trails
Away into sleep. Here, a long-eared owl
Flies above the garden, above all
The poor flowering things, earthbound,
Risking heavy feet.
Owls are punishment.
You said that to me once.
That owls mean punishment when
They perch atop trees, when their shadows
Loom to the ground,
When they watch like wolves.
And, tonight, my head does ache—
Pounds with too much to dream,
Too many throbbing patterns to unweave.